Chapter 7 - THE BOOK OF REGRETS
I sat in the corner of the room,
the notebook heavy in my lap.
It was leather-bound,
worn at the edges,
smelling of the same perfume she wore in Miami.
I hesitated before opening it,
feeling like a trespasser in her soul.
But I needed to know why.
I flipped to the first page.
It was dated three years ago,
the week after our divorce.
"Charles left today,"
the entry began.
"The house is too quiet.
I can still hear his footsteps in the hallway."
I read through the entries,
watching our history unfold through her eyes.
She wrote about the loneliness,
the regret,
and the strange relief of being free.
Then,
the entries shifted.
Six months ago,
the handwriting became jagged,
hurried.
"The doctors called today.
They used words like 'inoperable' and 'terminal.'
I felt nothing.
Maybe I've been dead since the divorce."
I felt a sob catch in my throat.
She had been carrying this alone while I was complaining about construction deadlines.
I kept reading,
my heart breaking with every word.
"I saw Charles in the bar tonight.
It was like seeing a ghost from a life I used to own.
He looked tired.
He looked like he missed me."
She wrote about the beach,
the way the sand felt between her toes.
"I knew if I went back to his room,
it would hurt him later.
But I needed to be Sarah Miller again,
just for an hour.
I needed to remember who I was before the sickness took over."
And then,
I reached the last entry,
dated only two days ago.
"The bleeding is worse.
I can't hide it much longer.
I kept Charles as my emergency contact because I want him to have the choice.
Not about me.
About what I left behind."
I stopped,
the words blurring.
What she left behind?
I looked at the nurse,
but she was busy with the monitors.
I turned the page,
expecting more writing.
But there was only a single photograph tucked into the back cover.
It was a picture of a little boy,
maybe two years old.
He had my eyes.
He had Sarah's smile.
And on the back,
in her shaky handwriting,
were the words:
"His name is Leo.
He's in a foster home in Coral Gables.
I couldn't tell you,
Charles.
I was too afraid you'd take him and I'd be truly alone."
The room seemed to dissolve around me.
A child.
We had a son.
And she had hidden him from me for two years.
This was the "darker" thing.
Not the death,
but the deception.
May you like
The red stain wasn't just her blood.
It was the blood of our broken family.
